


What Do You Kill For?

by Dorkangel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Azazel just wants to mess with people, Emma is a frosty bitch, Gen, Good and Evil, Killing, M/M, Shaw Being Evil, in a murderous fashion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 15:37:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2275188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorkangel/pseuds/Dorkangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hellfire club aren't good people.<br/>Emma'll do anything for power, Azazel actively enjoys murder, and Janos just doesn't care.<br/>Still, they're evil best-buddies and, in addition to a hell of a lot of drinking, they actually find that they're not as different as a person might believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do You Kill For?

**Author's Note:**

> Not dark enough for a warning to be necessary, but since I don't actually believe that the Hellfire Club are good people deep down - seriously, they're evil - this is by necessity kinda dark.

What Do You Kill For?

The first member of the 'Hellfire Club' to meet Sebastian Shaw was actually Azazel.  
Shaw was a bit short on followers, you see, and assassins, and in order to rule the world you need both.  
And Shaw needed mutants.  
They were hard to find, but eventually the megalomaniac had found himself in a shaded, dodgy-looking bar, talking to a grumpy middle aged man with messy hair, sideburns, and a cigar which he chewed near constantly but rarely lit. He had introduced himself as Logan, and then laughed harshly when Shaw explained why he was in there. Not too harshly, though, because however 'dangerous' Logan might be, there was that kind of 'don't fuck with me' air around Shaw; a threatening, heavy blanket that smothered rude remarks in your mind before they even had a chance to reach your mouth.  
"You want a hit man." Logan had assessed frankly. "One that can take orders and don't got too many morals, right? One that ain't... human."  
The last word was muttered, with a surreptitious glance towards a shady corner. The occupant of the corner wasn't hiding, not exactly, but he wasn't making himself known either.  
The hand that curled around his glass was red and taloned.  
Shaw grinned. "Yes. What's his name?"  
Logan snorted. "He hasn't got a name. Chose one himself, from the bible, 'cos he got sick of just being called freak."  
"His name." repeated Shaw patiently, and the wild little man beside him finally yielded an answer.  
"Azazel."

Azazel waited until Shaw had finished explaining his 'vision' of the world, drinking his way through the whiskey as the other man talked.  
Eventually he glanced up, giving Shaw a good view of his crimson face, and then of his sharpened teeth as he bared them in some strange mockery of a grin.  
"Are you a religious man, Mr. Shaw?" His accent was stronger than Shaw had expected. Very Russian.  
He inclined his head curiously. "No."  
"No? Ah." The red man downed the rest of his drink and winced dramatically, then continued. "I am. I believe in God - a sort of a God, anyway - but mostly, I believe in the devil." He spread his hands out for Shaw to inspect. "I believe that I am the devil in human form."  
Uh oh. Shaw had asked for a man with a lack of morals, not a madman. But still, he listened.  
"Do you want to know why, plastic man? Not because of my skin, although I do quite resemble Him- because of what I like to do. When I kill people, you understand, I think it's funny. I like the way they look when they die."  
Azazel picked up his drink again, frowned as he realised it was empty, and put it down. "I also think that you are insane, but - if you so please - I will work for you, because I want to cause chaos." The corner of his mouth rose into a wry smile. "Destructive and absolute."  
Shaw smiled back at him. "Destructive and absolute. That, my demonic friend, I can promise you."

Emma had sought them out and offered up her abilities and her presence on the team. She had been standing outside Shaw's bank vault one day, in diamond form, arms crossed over her chest and a chilly, almost bored, expression on her face.  
Her smile was as transparent as glass, but Shaw smiled back anyway (diamond and plastic, thought Azazel) and politely shook her offered hand.  
"The name's Emma Frost." she had said calmly, as though it was normal practise to be leaning against someone's secure safe, or that this meeting had even been arranged in the first place.  
"No need to tell me who you are, sugar. You're Sebastian Shaw, and your associate refers to himself as Azazel."  
"Well," their leader had said, tone ever-so-slightly mocking, but dangerous too. "Since you know all about us, how about telling us why you're here?"  
"I'm a telepath." she said, smile completely gone from her face and voice. "I've seen your ideas of the future, Mr. Shaw, and I like them. That's not quite why I'm here, though."  
She leaned forward, dark passion lighting up her translucent eyes. "I want a place in your inner circle, so that when you rebuild the world, I can stand by your side."  
An image suddenly appeared in both their minds. Crowds, hundreds of them, chanting 'President Shaw!' while behind them all, the White House burned. And next to Shaw, a young woman with blonde hair - she must be Emma out of diamond form, reasoned Azazel - one hand on his shoulder, the other on his elbow, controlling their mutant citizens as his right hand.  
Shaw nodded. "I like that too. That future can be arranged, Miss Frost. I suppose you know where our headquarters are?"  
She rolled her shoulders, clinking softly, and transformed into the pale woman they had seen, dressed in a tiny white dress and, over that, a long, white, leather coat.  
"Honey, the only way I don't know something is if you don't know it either."

Much later, on the yacht, both of them drunk and Shaw far away, she had admitted that that was a lie.  
"He's got very good shields. I can only see what he's not protecting, and we both know it."  
Azazel raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't trust him."  
It wasn't a question.  
"No."  
"Then why do you stay with him?" As usual, Azazel's accent had become more pronounced. It happened when he was agitated or drunk or, in this case, both.  
Emma's eyes had glossed over. "Power." she whispered reverently. "I could do what I wanted before, but it came with a price. Walking into people's houses, their offices, bank vaults," Azazel laughed. "But it meant I had to run and hide, and on the TV there'd be some news reporter saying 'And another million dollars disappeared mysteriously from a highly secure facility today'."  
"You want the power and not the catch."  
"That's what I just said, stupid."  
She'd batted at him playfully with a hand and Azazel frowned in mock hurt, but didn't hit back.  
That's the first time in years I've let anyone hurt me, he realised. Does that mean we're friends?

Emma had tracked down Riptide. He was slumped over a drink at a bar in Madrid, lank dark hair hanging in his blank, unfocused eyes. His clothes were ragged and dirty, and he had one hell of a bruise on his cheekbone.  
Azazel, who wore a broad hat and a scarf to cover up his red face, sent a sceptical glance Emma's way.  
"He doesn't look like much."  
You don't look human, whispered her voice in his mind. And yet you are.  
I am the devil, he insisted, and she rolled her eyes. They'd been through this argument before, but this time around they were snapped out of it by Janos, who finally gave up the ghost and collapsed, head down on the bar.  
No one reacted much, and the barman checked his pulse and continued with his work.  
"They're used to him." said Emma cooly. "He comes here every day and drinks until he passes out, and he's always brought enough money with him to cover it."  
Leaving Azazel to cover the entrance, she and Shaw strode forwards, ending up on either side of the unconscious mutant, and each grabbed a shoulder and pulled him upright. Wincing blearily, his eyes still shut, the man moaned.  
"Estoy dormido-"  
"Entonces despierta."  
At Shaw's words, clearly an order, the man cracked one eye open and squinted at them both curiously. He opened his mouth too, probably to ask who they were and what they wanted with him, but Shaw cut him off with a friendly clap on the shoulder.  
"Janos Quested, I presume?"  
His eyes widened in panic and he scrambled to his feet, falling backwards off the bar stool and knocking it over. For a moment he just stared at the both of them, and then ran for it, stumbling in his haste to get away. Emma and Shaw wasted no time sprinting after him, outside the bar, but there was no need to search. They heard the BAMF of Azazel teleporting, and then a loud cry of fear and surprise from the alley next to them. Exchanging a bemused look, they followed it.  
Janos's arms were pinned behind his back by the red-skinned man, and he had hunched his shoulders, sobbing 'Diablo, diablo!' under his breath. Azazel had apparently abandoned his hat and scarf on the roof, and was leering down at Janos in all of his scarlet glory.  
Shaw ignored the words, sticking his hand in his pockets and strolling forward, then bending down so he was at the pinioned man's head height.  
"My name is Sebastian Shaw," he announced. "And I am not here to hurt you. Azazel here is not a devil, and Emma," Sensing his intent, she shifted into diamond form. "Is not a witch."  
Janos swallowed, beginning to tremble slightly. "Who are you?" he asked in broken, heavily accented English. "Why are you hunting me?"  
"I would more call it 'recruiting'." drawled Shaw cheerfully, and some note of indignant rage came into Janos's face. Emma could hear the thoughts he was projecting: 'How dare they?'. How dare they what? she wondered.  
"How do you know my name?" he asked, giving the sudden sense of him interrogating them, and not the other way round.  
Telepathy, projected Emma, directly into his mind. He frowned, not understanding, and she searched for the word in Spanish. Telepatía. Psíquico. Médium.  
He understood, but he still wasn't happy. The wind picked up around them.  
"I left that name behind." he snarled, and all three of them found themselves suddenly picked up and hurled into the air by tornados. Emma hit the wall with a loud CLINK, Shaw laughed and sprouted extra arms, trying to catch the air, and Azazel disappeared with another BAMF.  
When he used his power, Janos was transformed. His hair did not whip around him, but blew itself neatly back into a wild mane, and a triumphant smile lit up his face. Magnificent, thought Azazel from the rooftop opposite, and then hoped Emma hadn't heard it.  
Finally absorbing the kinetic energy that kept it moving, Shaw let himself down from the tornado.  
"Well," he said, in the same tone as he would ask what your favourite colour was, with that same shit-eating grin. "What do you prefer to be called?"  
Janos hesitated, then let the wind move into smaller tornados around him, prepared to listen to what Shaw said.  
Aguarevuelto.  
He glanced at Emma, asking for the word in English. She was getting a little sick of being used as a translator, but smiled anyway.  
"Riptide."

 

Riptide wasn't actually Spanish. Or, so he informed Emma in rapid, slurred Spanish, having arrived at the yacht, put a nice suit on, sorted out his hair, and proceeded to get completely hammered. Again.  
He was Mexican, but he'd run away from that after someone beat him up in his village and he let the tornados loose and so many people, people he hated, people he'd liked, were ripped apart and-  
He'd left his name, and everything else, behind.  
At that point, however, he was just ranting about the police in Spain in a particularly hoarse voice because, in all honesty, he hadn't said this much for weeks. Janos was a man of few words.  
Azazel snorted and glanced over at Emma, who just rolled her eyes.  
"You'll be sharing with Azazel." she interrupted, gesturing to where the demon was polishing one of his swords in the corner. Janos's eyes widened and he went silent, but he nodded and did not protest.

When Azazel came into their room that night, though, Janos started and stared up at him.  
Azazel stared back for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed, making the confused young man jump again. "You are afraid of me," he teased, wagging a finger in Riptide's face and allowing his long, spaded tail to flick back and forth playfully behind him, like a cat's. "And you are wearing a cross around your neck. Rarely a coincidence, I find."  
He turned around and absently picked up an elegantly curved knife from his bedside table. "I will tell you a secret, comrade." With that, he had turned around and bared his pointed teeth. "I am the devil. Truly."  
And then Janos had laughed in his face, transforming from the nervous boy to the collected young man in an instant.  
"You are not the devil, amigo. You are a man. El anormal. A mutant, like us."  
"You weren't so sure of that before." said Azazel mockingly. "'Diablo, diablo!'"  
Janos eyes narrowed with a 'I'll get you for that later' look, but he did not try to start anything with Azazel right now, instead shrugging. "I was drunk." he said casually.  
Azazel decided enough was enough and sat down on the bed opposite him, the hard lines of his scarred face softening a little. They would have to work together, after all- it wouldn't make sense for Riptide to be an enemy.  
"You're drunk now."  
Janos followed his example and shrugged out of his jacket, lying down and closing his eyes.  
"Is a different kind of drunk."  
It had been a long day, and so much teleporting - much as he loathed to admit it - was exhausting, so Azazel had little trouble closing his eyes.  
"I look forward to exploring the many kinds of drunk with you, comrade."

It all came down to drinking, eventually. "I've worked it out," announced Emma, while she was supposed to be keeping mental tabs on Shaw as he threatened some generals. In reality, she was lying on the deckchairs with Azazel, drinking cocktails. Janos was out with Shaw.  
"What have you worked out?" drawled Azazel, sunning himself like a lizard.  
"Why we're here."  
He pulled his sunglasses down his nose and frowned at her. "We know why we're here."  
"No, I mean... It's hard to explain. You kill for-"  
"Fun." he hissed, grinning darkly.  
"And I kill for-"  
"Power."  
"And what does Janos kill for?"  
Azazel hesitated, and Emma nodded. "Exactly. I've worked it out, though; he kills because he can."  
"What?"  
"For the same reason he wears such nice clothes all the time. It makes him feel in control, don't you think? You've seen him using his powers. No one can touch him, and he knows it."  
Azazel nodded thoughtfully, trying desperately not to think about how attractive Riptide looked with that expression.  
"And Shaw kills for what he believes in." she finished, sighing. Azazel barked in laughter.  
"That makes him a better person than us."  
Emma shrugged. "We never claimed to be the good guys."

Bonding over mutual murder was, perhaps, an odd thing to do. But it was nice, freeing.  
They never tried to justify their actions, never spent sleepless nights querying their moral stability.  
They were murderers, but it was all for a reason, and that was ok.


End file.
